


dancing under red skies

by brookethenerd



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Coldest Girl in Coldtown Fusion, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: The reader’s best friend is trapped inside the Hawkins Coldtown, and if they can get their hands on a vampire, they can trade them for Robin. Steve, a newly turned vampire, crosses their path, and an uneasy alliance forms. Once inside the walls, the pair find themselves relying on each other more than they thought possiblean AU based on Holly Black’s novel The Coldest Girl In Coldtown
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Reader, Steve Harrington/You
Kudos: 13





	1. give me moonlight

Once upon a time, vampires were creatures of the night, nothing more than scary stories meant to scare children. Their tales were woven with blood and tragedy, with beings as cold as ice and eyes like rubies, their sharp-toothed grins existing only in the dreams that haunted the young. Their existence rested in story, not in reality. They were exaggerated garlic-loathers and sparkling teens and cartoon villains in red-lined cloaks.

Then the vampire - a real, non-breathing, arrogant vampire - Caspar Morales decided to spare his victim rather than killing him, infecting his victims, and turning them Cold. His actions tore the curtain on thousands of years of secrecy and hiding, and by the time he was done, he’d infected too many people in too many cities for the other vampires - ancient and disconnected - to stop it. The first outbreak was in Springfield, then Chicago, and on to San Fransisco, and then Vegas, and on and on.

Barricades were erected around the centers of the outbreak, the first unofficial Coldtown’s, meant to curb the spread of vampirism in the United States. You were seven, then, and it was still an American problem; until, inevitably, it wasn’t. Cold spread like wildfire throughout the globe.

It had a more official name, but everyone called it going Cold: spiking temperatures and senses, an overwhelming craving for blood. If someone went Cold, and indulged in human blood, they died, and the Cold brought them back Colder; as cold as possible.

The only cure - which was less a cure and more the only shitty option in a string of shittier options - was to refrain from drinking blood until the virus flushed itself out. But even that had an abysmal success rate, with 80+ days of insanity that regularly broke the strongest of people.

Those that tried to fight the virus were forced into hiding or taken immediately to the nearest Coldtown by the authorities if discovered. But the Coldtowns attracted more than just vampires, too, with a steady stream of people drawn in by the perceived glitz and glamour of immortality. With constant video streams of never-ending parties, of mansions filled with beautiful and dangerous creatures, the allure of the Coldtowns has only increased.

The Hawkins Coldtown was officially completed three months ago, it’s walls erected and fortified, its inhabitants trapped, its vampires supplied with a static food supply.

Three months ago, your best friend, Robin Buckley got stuck on the wrong side of the wall. Three months ago, the innocent flu that was perceived as the Cold landed Robin in a walled city teeming with vampires. Three months ago, you vowed to find her and bring her home.

There is only one way to get out of a Coldtown: a marker. Markers were the solitary exception to the Coldtowns in-but-no-out policy, the only way past the walls for a human. If you were rich enough, you could hire a bounty hunter to track and capture a vampire, who was given either cash or a marker on turning in the creature. Without a vampire - without a marker - there is no escape.

Three months ago, you started searching for a vampire. Today, you finally found one.

☾

Three months ago, Steve Harrington woke in a stranger’s basement surrounded by bodies. He had vague memories of a party the night before, of alcohol and onion garlands and pounding music and holy water on the lentils. Then, darkness, and screams, and sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight. Then pain, searing through his blood. Then, nothing. Then, now.

His body ached like his bones had reshaped themselves overnight, and despite the carnage around him, all he could think about was the blood dried into the carpets, splattered on the curtains, soaking through the fabric of the couch. He’d dragged himself out of that old house on shaking limbs, and headed in the opposite direction of the town. He knew what the virus snaking through his veins meant; he knew if he stepped foot in the city they’d ship him off to a Coldtown.

If he could just survive until the sickness ran its course, he could go home. If he could push through, stay strong, avoid people and the temptation of their soft, warm skin, he wouldn’t become a monster.

But it didn’t work like that. Instead, a starving Steve happened upon a couple of campers in the woods, in the exact place they shouldn’t be, and in his madness and thirst and desperation, he tore their throats out and drank them dry.

Three months ago, Steve Harrington died. Three months ago, he came back to life, too.

☾

Rumors of a vampire in the town on the outskirts of Hawkins have been floating around for months; a handful of disappearances, sightings of red eyes, etc., etc. It took weeks just to get a solid description, and another week to catch sight of it - him - and one more to figure out how to catch him.

You weren’t even an amateur bounty hunter, despite three months on the road, bouncing between the backseat of your car and seedy motels, with no training and only spite and desperation to find your friend motivating you.

But spite had gotten you this far.

It was a simple trap, almost laughable. An abandoned gas station bathroom, a small donation of your blood, and patience. Less patience than you’d thought; the creature was hungrier than you were desperate, appearing only hours after you laid the trap.

The monster didn’t look much like a monster at all. He was close to your age, with big brown hair and a confident gait. One might even call him handsome, if not for the ruby red irises shining through the darkness.

There was a reason so many humans flocked to Coldtowns; vampires were predators, and as such, needed ways to attract or attack prey. Luckily, they had both. Beauty and brawn and a set of fangs to round it all out.

You pressed further back into the darkness, finger searching out the safety of the gun in your hands for the tenth time that minute. It was off, and all you needed to do was lift, aim, and shoot. The moment he - _it_ \- was down, you’d drag it to your car, loop it in chains draped with garlic and soaked in holy water, and slam the trunk shut.

Then, it was off to Hawkins, off to save Robin. That is, if she was still able to be saved. That is, if she hadn’t been turned or killed or-

You shook the thought out of your head; panicking would solve nothing. The time alone on the road made for long interrupted swatches with only your thoughts to keep you company, and with so many monsters banging at the doors, you were getting better and better at compartmentalizing.

AKA: shoving away the scary shit until it’s safe to think about.

For now, you had one goal: catch the monster and deliver him to Hawkins. That was all; simple and simultaneously convoluted.

Letting out a slow breath, you pushed out the fear, letting calm wash over you; slow breaths and patience and snipping thoughts destined to make you unravel.

Catch the monster. Deliver it to Hawkins.

Catch the monster.

☾

Steve smelled the blood from a mile away, his senses spiking as his brain formed a mental map to the source of the scent. He hadn’t eaten - it still felt weird to think of it as drinking, drinking as pure sustenance, drinking the blood from human beings like the monsters in the fairytales that came true - in days, and the edges of his hunger made him reckless.

If he’d had a clear head, hadn’t approached the abandoned gas station with only blood on his mind, he might have realized the location of the heartbeat and the blood were in different places.

He moved toward the rusting metal door of the outdoor bathroom slowly, footsteps silent on the asphalt, easily navigating the moonlit street. He nudged the door open, resisting the urge to flinch when it whined, and stepped into the bathroom.

It was in just as horrid a condition as the gas station outside, with cracked tile walls and stall doors hanging on their hinges. The scent of metal - sharp and, now that he was what he was, sweet and magnetic - wafted from the large stall in the back, and he crossed the floor slowly, as a panther might approach an unwitting deer.

He heard the shoe squeak against the tile floor half a second too late, spinning with inhuman speed to catch sight of a dark silhouette and the flash of metal as a gun barrel lifted. He made it two steps forward, lips curled in a snarl, when they - human, heartbeat rapid in their chest, blood pumping hot and quick - pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit him in the chest, and he looked down at it for one second before lifting his gaze to his attacker - soon to be his prey - and gave them a menacing smile.

“That won’t kill me,” he said.

A mirthless laugh sounded in the doorway, and he moved to see them better, only to find he no longer had control of his legs. A wave of exhaustion coursed through him, tearing his thoughts to pieces, his normally lithe body limp.

“It isn’t supposed to kill you,” the shooter said. Fear chased the cold, heavy feeling washing through him as understanding dawned; drugs. “Horse tranquilizers work wonders. Even on vampires.”

His knees smacked into the tile, and he thrust an arm out toward the attacker, only to find his cheek pressed to the cold ground. Footsteps echoed in his ears, and boots appeared in his vision. Another shot rang in his ears, followed by a prick of pain in his shoulder.

“Night, night, Mr. Monster,” said a muffled voice.

Steve tried to snap a reply, tried to push to his knees and lunge, but could do nothing but lie there as the drugs dragged him into the darkness. It took only seconds to swallow him whole.

☾

Vampires were heavy.

At least, _this_ vampire was heavy. Unconscious, he was limp and of no help, and it took a good ten minutes just to get him out of the bathroom. You pulled your car right up the door, spending another ten minutes hoisting him into the backseat, and yet another ten looping the chains around him, triple checking that they were sturdy.

The horse tranquilizers should keep him sedated for a while, but you had no idea how long a while actually was; probably not as long as you wished.

But finally, _finally_ , after months of searching, of nights curled on the backseat of your car, of greasy meals and rest shop showers, you’d found the thing you needed to bring Robin home.

Now, all you had to do was get to Hawkins, get the token, and find Robin.

This time next week, she might be free. It was an intoxicating thought; you missed your best friend with a fierce intensity. You wanted her safe, safe and outside the walls.

The boy - the monster - in your backseat was the key to that. Even if he didn’t look like a monster, unconscious, light brown hair falling over his forehead, fangs and eyes hidden, he was the thing of nightmares. The thing that ruined the world. You couldn’t forget that; you couldn’t let your guard down for a second.

Unsurprisingly, he began to stir only two hours after you started driving, and you nearly had a heart attack in the driver’s seat. It took everything you had not to swerve right off the road, and you slowly pulled onto the side, slamming the car into park and spinning in your seat to face the boy in the backseat, pulling the crossbow off the floor of the passenger seat.

The boy’s brows arched at the sight of the weapon, but he remained otherwise composed. He took in his surroundings, and tugged lightly at his chains, testing them; to your infinite relief, they held. When he was content, he met your gaze again, the bright red of his eyes no less startling than it had been when he turned toward you in the bathroom.

“You’re going to regret this,” he said. He hesitated, brow twitching. “Whatever _this_ is.”

You forced down the fear rising in your chest, something ancient inside you screaming run, and let your lips quirk up.

“You’re helping me rescue my friend,” you said.

Something dark passed over his face, and fear tightened the knot in your gut. You forced yourself not to shift away, reminding yourself he was trapped in the backseat.

“Oh? And how am I doing that?” He asked, voice deep and smooth like honey.

“We’re going to Hawkins,” you said. His eyes narrowed, and you swore fear flashed in his eyes for a moment before he pushed it away. He struggled against the chains again, in vain, and you turned around in your seat, clipping your seatbelt on. You pulled back onto the road, flicking a glance at the boy in the backseat.

“Do you have a name?” You asked. His features twisted, and he met your gaze in the mirror. He didn’t respond for so long you thought he wasn’t going to.

Then, after an eternity, he said, “Steve.”

Steve, the vampire.

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” you said.

“Fuck off,” he retorted. You didn’t try to hide your smirk and pressed harder on the gas.

_Hawkins, here we come._


	2. deep into the night

The Hawkins Coldtown was only a two-hour drive from the gas station you found - or abducted, depending on your preference - the vampire boy, but at night, and with at least four checkpoints between you, the miles of mostly unguarded and inevitably invested road was a mountain far too large to cross, at least now.

Now, until the sun rose and plucked one of the many advantages their kind had over you, your focus was rest. Rather than pulling onto the highway and heading toward Hawkins, you drove through side streets of one of the small outskirt cities, the last stops on the way to Coldtown, pulling into the lot of a rest stop. The rest stops bordering the walled city were tourist attractions, in a way, landmarks to pass through on one’s way to the Coldtown, with both souvenirs and necessities, most equipped with showers and cots to rent and fresh clothes.

They were also giant targets, especially for bounty hunters looking for an easy score. Why go through the work of tracking and catching a vampire when you could just steal the catch of someone unfortunate enough to look away?

As much as you would have liked to avoid the rest stop altogether, you needed fresh clothes and something to eat. Plus, driving with a quiet, fuming vampire for the last two hours hadn’t exactly been all that fun. You almost wished he’d talk, curse you out or ramble about nonsense. Instead, he seethed silently in his chains in the backseat, ruby eyes narrowing each time you caught them in the rearview mirror.

He didn’t try to escape, though. Either he was secure, or he was plotting something bigger.

You were hoping it was the first option.

“What the hell are you doing now?” Steve asked when you pulled into a parking spot, putting the car into park and undoing your seatbelt, shifting to face him.

“Unlike some people in this car, I need to eat. I’m going inside for two minutes, and you’re going to sit here like a good dog.”

“I need to eat,” Steve said, one side of his mouth quirking up. If not for the red eyes, it might have been funny. You rolled your eyes and leaned over to tug your pistol from beneath the passenger seat, tucking it into your bag. A wickedly sharp diving knife followed, and a small wooden stake, for good measure. You looked at Steve, tugging your bag strap over your shoulder, and gave him a pointed look.

“I wouldn’t recommend struggling while I’m gone. Those chains are laced with all those lovely things your kind hate.”

Steve squirmed for a beat, calling your bluff, and hissed as the chain brushed his exposed collarbone, the water and onion juice burning his skin. His gaze snapped to yours, murderous for a moment before it settled out. You could swear that, for a moment, just a moment, shame flickered across his face.

“A little excessive,” Steve said, brows twitching, leaning back as casually as he could without burning himself again. Satisfaction tugged a smile onto your lips, which seemed to amuse Steve, rather than anger him.

He wasn’t what you expected him to be. The vampires on the Coldtown streams, with their lavish parties and endless nights, were as inhumane as they appeared, entrancing but dangerous. The ones on the Bounty shows, the ones chased and tracked and caged and exchanged for money, were wild, bloodthirsty creatures.

Besides the eyes, which were - admittedly - striking but unsettling, he just looked like a boy. Like someone you might have gone to high school with. A jock, maybe, but a _boy_.

You tore your gaze away, forcing an image of him slinking across the bathroom toward a pool of blood center stage. He was a monster, not a boy. No matter what the live feeds might say, vampires weren’t gods, and they weren’t men. They were monsters.

“I said _stay_ ,” you snapped, pushing open the door and climbing out of the car. Steve shrugged, and you push the door closed, turning toward the mall. Tucking a hand into your bag and checking the weapons are still inside, you headed off in the direction of the doors, and left Steve in the car behind you.

☾

Steve _might_ have made a bad call with this.

At first, he figured it was worth the adventure, even if he is chained in the backseat. He was planning on stripping the chains the moment you left his sight, though he wasn’t decided on whether or not to drain you once he was free. You did kidnap him, after all.

Now, though, he was stuck. Actually stuck. He underestimated your ability to restrain him, thinking you nothing more than a dumb teenager who was playing at being a bounty hunter. But there was something about you, something desperate skimming beneath the surface, a reason for all this.

You weren’t catching vampires and dragging them to Coldtown for the hell of it, for the endless party most kids go for. Your motivation laid elsewhere.

Seeing as he was trapped, for the moment, Steve made a new plan: figure you out. To exploit what he learned and use it to free himself, or trick you into doing it for him.

It wasn’t a great plan, but Steve Harrington didn’t have much going for him these days, anyway. What did he have left to lose that wasn’t already gone?

☾

The rest stop was surprisingly quiet at this time of night, in between when people go to bed and head out to party, those lulling hours of silence, of waiting. Most of the guests had either left for the Coldtown or were tucked into the small guest rooms for rent, leaving the stores and halls mostly empty.

You paid a few bucks for a shower and a change of clothes - sturdier pants, a thick long-sleeved turtleneck, and new laces for your boots - before heading to the small cafe, loading food into a bag and checking out. You kept one hand inside your bag at all times, fingers brushing across the handle of your gun and the smooth wood of the stake, silent reassurance that you weren’t alone in there, that your weapons were waiting for you to need them.

Once you were stocked up, you slipped back out into the dark parking lot toward the car, pausing when a shadow flitted across the pavement and ducked behind your car. Through the window, Steve was still chained, but his head snapped in the direction of the movement, as if he heard something you hadn’t.

You sprinted to the car, turning and pressing your back against the back door, guarding Steve in the backseat, guarding your bounty. Steve strained forward, angling his foot up to tap at the window with his sneaker. Letting out a huff of frustration, you tugged open the back door and ducking your head to meet Steve’s red eyes.

“I’m trying to deal with something, right now,” you snapped, and straightened, turning and pulling the pistol from your bag. It was loaded with wooden bullets, ones that would hurt both a human and a vampire.

A few months ago, if someone told you you’d wield that gun like a third limb, you’d have laughed in their face.

Then Robin got stuck in Coldtown, and you set off in search of a beast, teaching yourself to wield weapons and track the creatures just like the Bounty Hunters on all the TV shows. In the first month, you spent each waking moment terrified, not confident enough in your abilities to trust them.

Now, though, you were road-hardened and sharp-edged, carved into someone - something - that found comfort in the barrel of a gun.

A shoe scraped across the asphalt behind you and you tense, lifting the gun and skating your gaze across the lot, gun barrel following your line of sight.

“Let me go,” Steve said behind you, “and I’ll take care of it. I’ll-”

“Shut up,” you snapped.

“I can-”

“I said _shut up_.” You slammed the door shut behind him, gaze snapping to the silhouette ducking from the car beside you, pointing the gun at the noise. A beat later, a man stepped into sight, greasy hair pulled back in a ponytail, belt loaded with weapons, eyes narrowed over gruff features.

A bounty hunter.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a little problem,” the man said, voice rough. He jerked a chin to your backseat, where Steve sat, and for a moment, you regretted not letting him out.

But if you did, he’d be gone just as quickly as the bounty hunter was dead. You might end up dead, too.

“I’m fine.” You flicked the safety off the gun, and a wicked smile tugged on the man’s lips.

“Oh, come on. You’re not going to shoot me.” He stepped closer, completely unaffected by your threat.

Bad choice.

You cocked a brow and dropped the barrel of the gun, aiming at his kneecap. He laughed, rolls his eyes, calling your bluff. Your brows twitched and you pulled the trigger, the wooden bullet piercing his kneecap and shattering the bone.

The man let out a shrill scream, anger winding around his words, rage flashing red and hot in his eyes. His legs buckled and he hit the asphalt, the impact on the shattered knee only angering him further, and he scrambled for his gun.

You threw the driver’s side door open, chucking the bag of food into the passenger seat and climbing in, not even pulling on a seatbelt before you tore out of the parking lot and back onto the dead roads toward Hawkins.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve quipped from the backseat, craning his head to look out the back window at the growing-smaller figure of the bounty hunter curled on the asphalt behind you.

“Because you _weren’t_ planning on ripping his throat out.”

“Too messy,” Steve said. You caught his gaze in the rearview mirror, realizing with a start that he was telling a joke. The vampire, the bloodthirsty beast, was telling a joke. “Way easier to break his neck.”

You narrowed your eyes, and Steve waggled his brows for a moment before his gaze flicked away, scanning the windows and surrounding lot.

“We’re not sleeping here, are we? Not trying to talk shit, but….this isn’t exactly a five-star inn.” He jerked a chin toward the man outside, limping quickly toward the Mall and the infirmary inside.

“Thanks for your input,” you said, tugging on your seatbelt and throwing the car into reverse, slamming your foot on the gas and making the car lurch back.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve hissed again, and you couldn’t suppress the satisfied smirk that tugged on your lips.

☾

A small, seedy motel sat on the edge of the already small town, it’s flickering lights announcing its vacancy. You left Steve in the car to hand the man at the register cash in exchange for a room key before returning, tucking all your things into a duffel you kept in the trunk and slinging it over your shoulder. You kept the stake in one hand, popping open the back door and jerking a chin at Steve, gesturing for him to climb out.

He cocked a brow, gaze flicking down to the chains, but when you said nothing, he huffed in irritation and shuffled to the edge of the seat, awkwardly landing on the asphalt, though he composed himself inhumanely fast, an odd elegance to his movements, despite the overlaid teenage boy behavior. You were unsure whether it was a facade, or not.

He didn’t fight as you led him to the motel room door, watching casually as you slipped the key in and pushed the door open, allowing himself to be led inside. Once he was in, he moved toward one of the beds, dropping down onto the edge of the mattress, his chains jangling. You pushed the door closed and flipped all the locks, and when you turned to face Steve, his eyes were narrowed. He lifted the chains wrapped around his wrists and shook them lightly.

“Is this _really_ necessary?”

“If I untie you, you’ll kill me. Yes or no?”

He frowned.

“You just _assume_ I’ll kill you?”

“You didn’t answer my question. _Yes_ or _no_?”

He inclined his head, eyes intense for a moment before a lopsided grin tugged on his lips, an odd expression with the flashed fang of his upper incisor. With his eyes shut and mouth closed, he looked like a handsome teenage boy. Now, though, he was a predator, even if he didn’t intend to be.

“Maybe,” he said.

You set your bag down on the table and unzipped it, unloading your weapons onto the table. Steve’s gaze dropped to them, but the smile didn’t fade.

“An honest vampire,” you said. “How refreshing.”

“You meet a lot of vampires bounty hunting?”

You frowned, turning to face him.

“I’m not a bounty hunter,” you said, and didn’t elaborate further, tugging one of the chairs out and dropping into it, leaning your forearms against the table.

“You were hunting me.”

You hummed affirmatively, and Steve scoffed.

“You’ve got me tied up. You could at least _try_ and be entertaining.”

You met his gaze, cocking a brow and pouting.

“Oh, are you bored?”

“Very,” Steve retorted, falling back against the mattress It couldn’t be comfortable, not with the metal links digging into his skin or the odd way his arms are twisted, but he stayed that way for a long moment before sitting up again. “Why catch me, then? For the money?” He shrugged. “Seems like a lot of risk for a check.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“The token, then.”

“Why do you care?”

Steve shrugged again, and says, “I don’t. I’m just bored.”

You were wary to trust that; he was still your prisoner, and he was still a monster. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t _think_ you trust him. If he did, he’d let his guard down, and pull any planned tricks much more quickly. You’d rather deal with him now on your own than when you were in a walled city of vampires.

“Come on. I answered your question, you answer mine. We’ll make it a game. An answer for an answer.”

“Isn’t my name a waste of a question?”

“Asking that was a waste of question,” he said, lips quirking up. “My turn again. Name can wait. What’s in Coldtown?”

You narrowed your eyes, but settled back against your chair and let out a breath.

“I have a friend inside,” you said. “She got stuck when the wall went up.”

“So did half the town,” he said. “So, what, your big plan is to take on Coldtown and get her out yourself?”

Your jaw tightened, and Steve laughed mirthlessly.

“Great,” he said. “Just great. I got kidnapped by an amateur.”

You snatched the stake from its resting place on the table and chucked it in half a second, the wooden tip whizzing right by Steve’s ear before impaling in the wall behind the bed. He didn’t flinch, looking over his shoulder at the staked wall and returning his gaze to you, something between amusement and amazement flickering across his face.

“You were off,” Steve mused. You snorted a laugh.

“Keep talking, and it won’t be.”

His lips quirked up in a grin, to your frustration, all attempts at intimation falling flat. After a beat, though, his lips pulled into a thin line, brows furrowing over dark eyes.

“It’s one token per person to get out,” Steve said.

“That is how it works, yeah.”

“One token per vampire. That’s also how it works. And you only have one.”

“Quite observant.”

Steve stiffened.

“So this is a suicide mission.”

“It is not.”

“ _Is too_ ,” he retorts. “You’re not planning on coming back out.”

“What’s it to you? You’re not leaving, either.”

“Thanks to you.”

You shrugged. “Sorry if I’m not all that concerned with a vampire’s happiness.”

“How long’d it take you?” He asked. “Just to find me?”

“How long have you been a vampire?”

He made a tsk sound with his tongue, and said, “Answer for an answer.”

Most of your hesitation and distrust had turned to irritation, like that which would have been directed at a boy just like him back in school, if things were different; if you were different. It could be a drinking game, tossing questions and answers in some old motel room, if the world were different. If, if, if. So many possibilities you could choke on them.

“Three months,” you said.

Steve inclined his head. “Three months.”

“You’re breaking your own rules.”

“No,” he said. “I’ve been….like this,” he nodded his chin at himself, “for three months.”

“How’d you get turned?”

“Got too close to a girl I shouldn’t have in the dark at a party. She was a little too handsy, if you know what I mean. Woke Cold the next morning. .”

“And set off on a murder spree?”

Steve’s mouth twisted with distaste. He didn’t seem all that proud of who he was, contrary to the televised vampires on the streams.

The ones that danced through dawn and made the nights endless, elegant and graceful beings of inhumane beauty, lips shining red with lipstick and blood, like gods incarnate.

Steve, however, was three months away from being a teenage boy. Three months in the wrong direction, unfortunately, too far away to ever fully reel the line back in.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he snapped. “It’s not like I went out that night _hoping_ I’d get bitten by some….” He shook his head. “It’s not exactly _glamorous_. I didn’t want to be this way.”

“Why didn’t you wait it out? Lock yourself up somewhere and let the virus burn itself out? You’d still be human.”

He laughed, but it was humorless, bitter, twisted his lips halfway into a snarl, flashing sharp incisors that reminded you what lurked behind an innocent face.

“If it was that easy, there would never have been an outbreak at all,” he says.

“So, you’re not in it for the parties, then? The immortality? The _luxury_?”

Steve’s brows furrowed, and he scoffed.

“I’d be in a Coldtown by now if I was.”

“Why _aren’t_ you in a Coldtown?”

He didn’t bring up the fact that it was technically his turn for a question, and despite his chains, sat casually, giving the impression of comfort. It seemed like a constant war with him, fragments of boy and monster surfacing and struggling to stay above water. In some moments, he was more monster, and some, more boy.

“I guess if I turn myself in, it feels like I’m giving up. Like, this is really my life now. I’m dead and I drink blood and I’ll never eat another fucking cheeseburger-” At your cocked brow, he smirked. “I miss cheeseburgers more than my own parents.” His smile widened. “They’re assholes, but still.”

“But it is your life.”

Something indecipherable flickered across his face and his expression smoothed.

“What about you? What’s so important about this person inside that you’re willing to die for them?”

“Going into a Coldtown doesn’t mean I’m going to _die_ ,” you said, “drama queen. It just means I’m stuck in a slighter smaller, but still shitty, world. How’s that different from today?”

“Why not just catch another?” He asked.

“It took three months to catch you.”

He shrugged, and said, “You got lucky.”

“You got stupid.”

“I got _lazy_ ,” he corrected. “And hungry.” His teeth clenched, and his gaze fell to your neck. You shifted uncomfortably, tugging up your turtleneck - handy in the current times - and Steve averted his gaze, jaw twitching.

You licked your lips and pushed to your feet, tugging your keys out of your pocket and grabbing the pistol.

“I’ve got blood bags in the car,” you said. “ _Stay_.”

Steve cocked a brow, gaze flicking down to his chains and back up.

“I can’t smell them. How do you-”

“That’s the point,” you said. “They’re packaged up and wrapped tight so I don’t hang a target on my back. But they come in handy.” You grinned. “They caught you.”

Steve ignored that last part, looking away and making himself comfortable

“I’ll be here,” he said, drawing out the words, “ _Waiting_.”

“Good vampire,” you said. He narrowed his eyes, and you flashed him another grin before heading for the door and unbolting it, slipping out into the dimly lit walkway. It was eerily silent, not even crickets chirping, as was typical the closer and closer one gets to the walled cities. Insects and animals were like an alarm, and when they fell silent, it meant predators were nearby; vampires, in particular.

And it was dead silent now.

☾

Steve heard the footsteps added to yours, indicating another body in the parking lot, but the lack of two distinct heartbeats turned his already cold veins icier. He strained his ears, the second pair of footsteps slowing, their breaths coming too slow to be human.

Your heartbeat remained even, steps rhythmic, and a popping noise indicated the opening of the trunk. You were unaware of the second body in the lot, of the creature stalking you, waiting for the moment you ducked your head.

Something fierce and hot and sharp unfurled in Steve’s gut, something screaming at him to go, but not to run away, not to flee while you’re distracted, but to go after you. To put himself between you and the vampire that dared come for you.

He’d been working at the chains for hours without your knowledge, but they were hardly loose enough to wriggle out of without all his exposed skin brushing up against the laced chains. It’ll hurt like a bitch, and though he heals quickly, it won’t be fast or fun.

Your heartbeat quickened, and Steve heard you shift, your instincts telling you what your eyes couldn’t, or hadn’t, yet seen.

Steve’s own instincts took over. With one yank of his arms, the chains broke apart, slicing open his skin and sparking pain along his forearms. He ignored it, shrugging off the chains and grabbing onto them, ignoring that pain too and letting it pile on top of the rising fire, moving with inhuman speed out the door and to the lot, slamming into the dark silhouette approaching you without pausing to look at it.

The vampire, a man around Steve’s father’s age, smacked into the pavement, but quickly jumped back to his feet, lips curling back in a snarl, eyes flaming. The hunger was evident on his face, etched into the deep lines, and he couldn’t focus on Steve, not with you so close, not with the blood bags in the trunk.

His desperation was Steve’s advantage; Steve was used to being hungry by now, and far better at holding it in than his starving creature.

The man bolted past Steve, and he lifted the chains, swinging them up and around the man’s neck as he passed, yanking and slamming him into the concert. He jumped on top of him, looping the chains around him and pinching them tightly before hopping off. He turned to face you where you stood by the drunk, pistol raised, eyes wide, lips parted.

“There’s your second marker,” he said, and nudged the now-unconscious, chained vampire with the toe of his sneaker. Your eyes widened even further, and you shook your head.

“How….why did you do that?”

“It’s like you said.” Steve hauled the unconscious vampire over to your trunk, tossing him in and double-checking that the chains are tight, wincing when the metal burned his skin but finishing the job. “This is my life now.” His gaze fell to the open bag beside the vampire in the trunk, a cooler inside of it, and though he couldn’t smell it, his stomach turned with the knowledge of its contents.

You followed his line of sight and grabbed for the cooler, pulling it out and slamming the trunk shut.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” You asked, jerking a chin toward the cooler. “You could kill me, take the spoils, and ride off into the sunset.”

Steve shrugged, and said, “I don’t think there are any sunsets to ride off into anymore.”

☾

Coldtowns were less towns and more prisons, though they differed from the traditional jail in the sense that the inmates ran the show.

The Coldtowns were walled cities, walls stretching too high for even an adventurous vampire to climb, and even if they did, the armed guards stationed along the tops would shoot them down the moment they made it higher than two feet.

There were ten across the US - ten hotbeds of infection turned endless party for the dead inhabitants - and Hawkins was the smallest, with only ten thousand residents.

Outside the walls, any vampire was fair game for a bounty hunter, or even for someone crazy enough to seek one out for the hell of it. Even if vampires ruled the night, humans still ruled the day.

Inside the Coldtowns, however, the vampires ran the show. It was their world, their city, and the humans inside were either unlucky or ignorant.

☾

The gate didn’t look the way you expected. The walls, sure, tall and almost-crudely constructed, stretching way higher than you could even you. It looked like the gateway to an old mansion, perhaps, not a dead city.

You pulled the car into the lot beside the small guard station, stopping to loosely chain Steve up with the spare metal, enough to make him look trapped, but not enough to hurt him.

An odd camaraderie was born out of the attack at the motel. You weren’t not sure that Steve was your friend, or even an acquaintance, but you were fairly certain he wasn’t going to tear your throat out, and that’s something.

As for Steve, being brought to a Coldtown by you was his best option. He either tries to rough it outside for longer, risking a cruel and fully trained bounty hunter or starvation, or get tossed in now. 

Neither of you liked your choices, but they were the best ones to make, at least now.

Once Steve was re-chained, you climbed out of the car, stopping to duck down and meet his ruby gaze.

“You’re still my prisoner,” you said. “Keep that big mouth shut until we’re inside, okay?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

“Ooh, go for it,” he says, waggling his brows. You flipped him the middle finger and slammed the back door shut, heading for the guard station; heading for Coldtown.

☾

The woman at the reception desk tried, in vain, to talk you out of going inside, spending a full ten minutes on her pointless argument before realizing you were immovable. Only then did she start the paperwork, sending a guard out to verify the two vampires in the car before handing you a small envelope with two coins inside.

Two markers: both-way tickets out of Coldtown. One for you, one for Robin.

That was, if you didn’t die before you found her.

☾

The only way into Coldtown was through platforms dropped from the top of the walls. Steve was taken separately, chained and shuffling, and you were led to a creaky metal platform by one of the guards.

“Wait for me to lower you down,” the man said, closing the gate on you. “You’ve got three minutes to enter once I open the gate.”

You nodded, and the man backed away, punching a button on the wall. The platform swung unsteadily as it began to drop the six stories down to the city streets, and multiple buildings were visible from your height. Smoke billowed out of chimneys and light streamed through windows, illuminating the dark town.

It looked more like ruins than a city, despite the evidence of life - dead and alive - bustling inside it. The street below the platform was abandoned, as was the one further down the block where Steve’s platform was lowered.

It looked exactly like the photos and streams, but worse. A city in a never-ending war between destruction and life. Cracking windows and crawling vines, bright lights and pulsing music. A city warring between the urge to die and the urge to grow.

The platform smacked hard into the asphalt street, and a large buzz was followed by the opening of the gate.

Taking a deep breath, swallowing the fear threatening to swallow you whole, you stepped off the platform and onto the street; into the Hawkins Coldtown.

_I’m coming, Robin._


	3. pt 3

Once upon a time, Hawkins was a quaint, quiet place to live. It was clean and safe, and residents slept with their doors unlocked and windows open.

Then, Indianapolis burned before a wall could be erected around it; before turning into a Coldtown.

As such, the state went in search of the next highest concentration of vampires. They found them hiding in a sleepy town. And when they woke the town, they woke their monsters, too. They set off a beacon for all the dark and evil things lurking on the sidelines, and brought them to Hawkins.

The gates deposited you and Steve on opposite sides of what might have been the Main Street, but was too different in appearance to tell. It had been a long time since you lived in Hawkins; since it was evacuated in stages and you were relocated in the state.

The streets were cracked, and every building's windows were either shattered or boarded up to prevent it, and eyes could be seen through the cracks of the windows hiding the living - and the nonliving, technically. You were being watched, tracked beneath the moonlight that edged toward the horizon and threatened to bring the day.

With heightened senses, Steve was more aware of the attention than you, his tension evident in the stiff set of his shoulders and the hard line of his jaw. His ruby eyes were bright against the dark night, but there was something harder to them, an edge of scarlet bleeding around the rims, a red so deep and dark it neared on black.

You’d been walking for at least five minutes - with no destination but away from the eyes - and in that time, Steve had drifted away inch by inch and refused to look your way.

You realized, with a start, that he was hungry. Most likely starving. When was the last time he’d eaten? Or…drank? The bagged blood you’d given him couldn’t have been enough, and he couldn’t have had enough of it to assuage him.

He was an animal. Not a boy. Not an ally. He was a monster. You couldn’t allow yourself to forget that.

He was more familiar with the streets than you, and though you’d have liked to press him for information, you didn’t think pulling his focus to you was the best of ideas at the moment. He didn’t need another reminder that you were walking beside him with a beating heart and blood flowing in your veins.

You turned down a dark street, its lights long broken, the curbs lined with abandoned and looted cars. Debris fluttered along the asphalt, pulled by the wind, and somewhere nearby - not close enough to be overly alarming - a scream punched through the sky for a long moment before fading away.

The sound made you tense, fear looping itself around your chest and tightening, and Steve, though it seemed to pain him to do so, shifted closer by an inch. You kept your face expressionless, but surprise twisted inside your belly.

A voice broke through the darkness, three figures stepping out of an alleyway and onto the street, their eyes shining red like a cat’s yellow irises in the darkness. Steve stiffened, and though he said nothing, his expression turned near-murderous, the sight making your stomach churn.

“Harrington! What’s a pretty-boy like you doing in a place like this?” The boy at the head of the pack said. His hair was cut into a mullet, and a mustache arched across a top lip curled back to reveal sharp incisors.

“Hargrove,” Steve said, stepping forward. He was nonchalant in his movement, and it was clear the other boys didn’t notice, but he was unmistakably placing himself in front of you. “Didn’t realize you were…you know.”

“A god?” The boy asked.

“I think monster is a little more accurate,” Steve snapped.

“Pot calling the kettle black, eh?” Billy said. He sauntered forward, his cronies following silently, and the moonlight cast across his face illuminated the red blood staining his hands and the edges of his mouth.

Steve tensed, one hand curling into a fist at his side. This, Billy noticed, his gaze flicking down, then up to Steve, over to you, and back. He let out a little laugh and looked back at his friends.

“No shit. Don’t tell me Steve Harrington is carting around a blood mule.”

“Watch your mouth,” Steve snapped, an edge to his voice that made the hair rise on the back of your neck. He’d gone from boy to beast in seconds, but his predation wasn’t directed at you; you were being protected by it.

It was different than outside the motel, the quick and chaotic kill that you’d miss if you blinked.

This was Steve’s world, whether he wanted to admit it or not, and if he wanted to drain you dry, he could have done it the moment the gates deposited you here. He could have ditched you, or just plain snapped your neck, but he didn’t.

The behavior wasn't like a predator on prey, either. It wasn't two lions laying claim on an antelope, despite the way Steve was making it appear. There was a tension to his stillness that he didn't have when you first captured him.

He wasn’t keeping you alive because he wanted to drain you or use you. So, why _was_ he keeping you alive?

“We can share,” said one of the boys behind Billy, his smile vicious in the moonlight. “We’ll make sure not to leave a drop behind.” He moved forward, and though you couldn’t see Steve’s face, he lunged forward, and his expression made the boy falter.

“Come near them,” Steve said, “and I’ll tear your throat out.”

Billy’s lips curled up in a grin and he flicked a glance at you. Your stomach turned, and you realized Steve’s mistake; whether he realized there was more to his protection or not, Billy clearly did, and that alone had turned the interaction into a battle for the bastard to win.

He looked between his crew before nodding, and in a blink, the three of them had moved. The boys behind him lunged for Steve, and though he stuck his ground, they managed to pull him far enough out of the way for Billy to push in.

He crossed the asphalt in a millisecond, a hand closing around your throat as he lifted you up. The world slammed forward as he stepped - _blinked_ \- forward, and your back slammed into the brick wall, the impact making you see stars. Your feet brushed the ground and you scrabbled at his hands, struggling for breath. One of your hands found your jacket's inner pocket, but you couldn't get your fingers around the small stake buried inside long enough to pull it out. 

Billy ducked, nose skating along the exposed skin of your neck, his inhale sharp and animalistic. Everything inside you screamed _run_ , but you were trapped in his grip, and with each moment, his fingers tightened around your throat.

His free hand found yours, yanking it from your pocket, and he dipped his hand in, pulling out the stake and the envelope with the two markers. Your blood went cold, all the blood rushing out of you; which you really wish was literal, and not just a feeling, as now was not the time or place to be living.

You thought you were ready. You thought you could do this. And yet, here you were, about to die after five minutes on the ground.

“Well, well,” he said, pulling back, fingers releasing their grip on your neck. You gasped for breath, a hand flying up to your throat as Billy inspected the envelope.

“That’s mine, you _prick_ ,” you snarled, snaking a hand out for it. Billy flashed you a wicked grin before he grabbed your wrist and slammed it back into the wall, pain flaring up your hand and making you cry out.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he crooned, “that’s not very nice, now is it?”

“Fuck you,” you said, turning your chin up, shoving down the fear threatening to drown you. Billy laughed, and your gaze flitted to Steve and the two silhouettes a few yards away.

Despite the murderous vampire pinning you to the brick, your attention stayed locked on Steve, a mix of shock, horror, and admiration rolling through you.

He fought both like a monster and a man, throwing traditional punches and kicks just as much as he used his speed and strength. He caught one of the boys by the collar and slammed them into the asphalt so hard you heard bones break, and he ducked his chin, pointed white incisors flashing in the light just before they found purchase on the vampire boy’s skin.

And, just as promised, Steve ripped his throat out. He let the body drop, ignorant or uncaring of the blood dripping down his chin, his gaze murderous as he went for the other vampire.

Just as moronic as the first, he took Steve on, but you missed the rest of their fight, Billy’s fingers around your hand tightening.

“Think I’ll hang onto these,” he said, jamming the envelope and the markers - your and Robin’s ticket to freedom - into his pocket. “You wouldn’t believe how valuable these things are in here.”

His nails dug into your skin, breaking through and pulling blood to the surface. Billy's nostrils flared, and his eyes dropped to your wrist just as the second body thudded to the asphalt behind you and a crown of auburn hair flashed in sight just before Billy was wrenched away, his nails scraping your skin before falling away.

Your knees gave out beneath you, and Steve had to choose between catching you and catching Billy; the struggle was etched into the lines of his face.

In the end, he chose you, kneeling beside you and helping you to your feet. Once you were back up, his gaze fell to your hand in his, to the red still trickling from the small cuts on your wrist. His jaw tensed, and you pulled your hand away, placing the other on top of it.

“It’s fine,” you said. “You don’t need to-”

He shook his head, reaching out to carefully pull your hand away, flipping your palm to look at the line of scrapes around your wrist, raw and angry and red and wet with blood. The breath he took was a hard one, all flared nostrils and clenched teeth and furrowed brows, but the next time he moved, he was more composed, though not by much.

He was teetering on a tight rope, and instead of pulling away again, you were letting him. If he fell, it was your life taken. And yet, you still didn’t pull away.

He said your name in a tone so genuinely human it made your chest ache, and you tugged your hand free.

“It’s nothing,” you snapped, unable to come to terms with what the cuts on your arm meant; what they might mean.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said. “It looks like you got-”

“Don’t say it,” you said. You exhaled, fear swelling in your chest. “ _Please_. Don’t.”

His gaze trailed over your expression, and he seemed to decide against pushing it further, at least for now, to your infinite relief.

A scratch. If it was deep enough - god, you hoped it wasn’t deep enough - the infection was already settling into your veins and gearing up for its journey. If it was deep enough, you’d go Cold.

“He took the markers,” you said. “It’s over. It’s all _over_.”

Steve swept a look around the dark street before taking your hand in his, and though his gaze lingered on the blood still staining your skin, he managed to force it back up to your eyes.

“It’s not over,” he said. “We’re getting those markers back. You are finding your friend and getting the hell out of here.”

“How?” You asked, unable to think past the fear and panic blooming inside you.

One side of his mouth quirked up, and he said, "I trusted you to bring us here, right?"

“I _kidnapped_ you.”

“I _let_ you,” he said.

“Did not.”

“Did _too_ -” He stopped, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. All I’m asking is, do you still think I’m going to rip your throat out the second you turn around?”

You frowned.

“No.”

“Then trust me,” he said, “to help you out of this. Or, at least, to keep you from getting drained by some asshole until you get yourself out.”

“Why?” You asked. “Why are you so interested in helping me? I dragged _you_ here.”

He shrugged, his smile widening, and you were unsettled by the fact that the bright red of his irises was _no longer_ unsettling; like you’d grown used to it.

“Maybe I think you’re _entertaining_ ,” he said, and you thought back to the motel room, to the difference between then and here.

In that room, he was a predator, and you prey. Here, now, you weren’t sure what either of you was.

☾

As it turned out, Steve Harrington was not completely alone in Hawkins. Though it took another hour of wandering, he eventually led you up the steps to the home that once inhabited the Wheeler family, and now inhabited their daughter Nancy and her boyfriend, Jonathan, both turned and lingering when the wall went up and the rest of the family fled.

Her brother, Mike, and his friends, all unfortunately caught on the wrong side of the barrier, were alive, but out for the night, which was for the best, seeing as Steve was still starving and barely keeping his calm around you.

Nancy led you to one of the upstairs bedrooms, and though it was still slightly terrifying to stand in a house with three vampires, two were well fed, and the one that wasn’t had dipped out to remedy that situation twenty minutes prior.

She piled a clean stack of clothing on the edge of your bed, and you crossed the carpet, reaching out to pull the sweats off the stack. The motion lifted your long sleeve's fabric, flashing the recent cuts and the blood caked around the jagged edges.

Nancy’s gaze lingered on the blood, and you cleared your throat, asking, “If you don’t mind me asking…how do you guys…you know…”

“Eat?” She asked. You nodded, and she laughed, moving to drop onto the edge of the bed.

“At first, when the wall went up, it was pretty scarce. For a while…” Her expression darkened, but it wasn’t a dangerous look, but an almost shameful one. “We had to use shunts on the humans we _did_ know just to keep from killing them.”

“And now?”

She seemed surprise you didn’t pause or show any reaction to her admission, but in your eyes, a shunt was the best possible scenario. No one went Cold, and no one had to die. It may not have been the prettiest method, but you could hardly blame her - or any of them - for staying alive, especially if they did all they could to lessen the blood on their hands.

“You’re sure you want to know?”

"I need to," you said. Her gaze fell to your arm again, and you turned it over, hiding the cuts and effectively ending the marks as a subject for conversation.

It wasn’t polite to ask the Cold how they turned, so you didn’t press, but the furrow in her brows made you wonder how exactly Nancy Wheeler and her boyfriend died and came to live in a house with a handful of human children. It couldn’t be a happy story; you weren’t sure anyone had happy stories anymore.

"There are plenty of newcomers on the streets, practically _begging_ you to take some off them,” she said. “In a pinch, it works. The blood dens are safer.”

“Blood dens?”

Her nose crinkled. “Think…strip clubs but for blood. Instead of paying for a dance, you pay for a vein.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head.

“Yeah,” Nancy said. “Not all that glamorous.”

"Tell that to everyone watching the streams and dreaming of a never-ending night in Coldtown," you said. Nancy snorted a laugh, pushing to her feet again, moving to the window and sliding her gaze across the dark street; the windows were barred and half boarded, but she had the advantage of heightened senses.

“That’s where Steve is?” You asked. “A…blood den?”

Nancy nodded, saying, “They may not be the most legitimate establishments, but Hawkins is safer than some of the other cities. The dens are sketchy, don’t get me wrong, but even Steve Harrington can handle himself in there.” She said this _as_ she scanned the street, as if constantly on the lookout for danger, and you couldn’t decide whether she was lying or simply in the habit of watching her own back. You supposed, with human children stocked inside the house, Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers spent most of their time protecting the kids from the monsters outside the door.

“Do you have a laptop?” You asked. Nancy lifted her gaze to yours, and you suppressed the urge to flinch at the ruby in her eyes. “I was hoping to check the feeds. See if maybe I spot my friend.”

Nancy nodded with a tiny smile, turning for the door, presumably to go for the computer, but paused, facing you with knitted brows.

“Who is your friend?”

“Robin Buckley?” You asked. “Yay high-” You raised a hand. “-with light brown hair, always wears red sneakers with sharpie all over them?”

Nancy pursed her lips and asked, “Worked at the ice cream shop before the wall went up?”

Your stomach dropped, and Nancy quickly continued, noticing the expression on your face. “I know where she is. I’ve…I’ve seen her on the feeds, actually.”

“Where is she?” You asked. Nancy licked her lips, and you pressed, “Tell me.”

“She’s at the Hargrove’s,” Nancy said. “They…rounded up all the Hawkins kids and…”

“And what?” You said, stepping toward her.

She stiffened, a gut reaction that she quickly amended, but seemed surprised at your closeness; at your lack of intimidation.

Maybe it was the desperation, or the night’s encounter with Billy, or simply traveling with Steve for the last few days, but Nancy Wheeler didn’t scare you. She was intimidating, but you’d been on your own long enough to at least make a stand against the Cold.

Perhaps you weren’t so screwed in Coldtown after all.

“You’ve heard the stories, I’m guessing?” She asked. “Humans used as…”

“She’s a blood mule,” you said. “That’s what you’re saying.”

Nancy let out a sigh.

“Yes,” she said. “And she doesn’t have much time left.”

☾

Though you heard the kids filter into the house an hour after you arrived, you stayed tucked in the guest bedroom Nancy led you to, too busy scanning through the feeds on her computer. When Steve returned, the house had gone empty, and even you had nodded off against the headboard, the computer half fallen off your lap.

The sudden absence of the laptop’s weight snapped you to consciousness, and you shoved a hand into your back pocket, aiming the barrel of the gun at the intruder to the bedroom before your eyes have even opened.

The room was too dark to make out the silhouette standing at the side of the bed, but the ruby red eyes that shone through the darkness like a cat’s were familiar, and you let the gun fall away, huffing a sigh of relief.

In a blink, Steve crossed the room and flicked the lights on, standing back beside your bed and dropping onto the edge as you straightened, sitting cross-legged with a pillow in your lap.

“Hey,” you said. “How was dinner?”

Steve’s laugh surprised you, low and soft and light, and you were even more surprised by the smile on your lips that followed.

“You could at least _pretend_ to be scared of me,” he said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You asked.

After he spoke, you realized that the question was a test; one of the possible answers was 'I am.' But only in him asking did you realize you weren't, at least, not anymore. It wasn't even that he'd had the chance - more than a few - to kill you; it was that you were no longer sure he was capable of doing it.

Rather than feeling nervous, or unsettled, you felt the safest you had since entering Coldtown with Steve back by your side.

“What about you?” He asked. “Any interest in ripping throats out?”

“Not yet,” you said. “But I’ll keep you updated.”

A tiny smile tugged on his lips, but it fell as soon as it came. His brows pulled together, and he gestured for your hand again. To your surprise, you let him take it and flip your palm up; you let him trace his thumb down the small divots in the skin, one of which had reopened sometime in the last few minutes.

You knew he was going to ask about it, to bring up the possibility - the likely inevitability - that the infection was already building inside your veins. It wasn’t a reality you were capable of handling yet, not until you were certain, and you scrambled for something - anything - to fill the silence with.

“What does it feel like? Dying?” You said.

Steve flinched, sitting back, and you crinkled your nose, guilt coiling in your gut.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to-”

“No, it’s okay,” he said. He let his gaze slip away and raked a hand through his hair, letting out a breath, the motion so human you were once again left wondering how much of Steve Harrington was monster, and how much was boy. “I, uh, I went _Cold_ really fast. I woke up the morning after the party with a killer headache and a scar.” He tugged the collar of his tee down, revealing shiny white scars on his throat in the form of jagged teeth. “I mean, it’s not like I was the first one to go Cold in town, or anything. I knew what it meant. Hell, I knew what it meant the _second_ I felt her teeth-” He stopped, shaking his head, and you reached out a hand, letting it settle atop his. He looked down briefly, but didn’t comment on it, simply taking a breath and continuing. “I packed up my car and drove as far into the woods as I could go. I was _going_ to wait it out.”

I don’t even remember the hikers. I guess my brain had been roasting for a few days by then, but I don’t know.” He turned further away, the red of his eyes out of sight. “I remember feeling _good_. Before that, I _felt_ like I was dying, but after I-” He flicked a glance your way. “After what I _did_ , I felt…drunk. Then I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I was like this.” He gestured at himself, and the shame that flickered across his expression turned your stomach.

“You tried to fight it,” you said, unsure of why you were defending him but suddenly viciously on his side. “It’s not like you _asked_ for this.”

“Those hikers didn’t ask to have their throats ripped out, either,” he said, voice cold. He shifted away, and you were struck with the fear that if he walked away, he wouldn’t return; and the thought of him not returning was like a knife to the gut for reasons you weren’t interested in delving into at the moment.

“Steve.” His name on your lips made him hesitate, but it was your hand on his arm that turned him back toward you. He dragged his gaze to yours, and the only tangible word in your head when his ruby eyes met yours was _beautiful_. “You didn’t choose this life.”

“No,” he said, and the honesty in his voice cut you to the bone, “but I could have lived it better.”

“You’ve saved my life how many times now?” You asked. “As far as I can tell, you’re doing a hell of a lot better than half the people here, undead or not.”

His brows pulled together and one of his hands found your cheek, his touch gentle despite the power behind it.

“I haven’t saved it yet. When you’re on the other side of the wall, _then_ I might believe you,” he said, one side of his mouth turning up. You frowned, but relented the argument for now; the exhaustion you’d been fighting off for hours had settled upon your shoulders like bricks.

“Until then,” you said. The other side of his mouth joined the smile.

“We’re gonna find Robin,” he said. “And we’ll get your markers back. I _promise_.” He pushed to his feet, hand falling from your cheek, but you stretched your own out, fingers closing around his wrist. He stilled, gaze snapping to yours, the quickness of the action inhuman but the surprise in his eyes all human - all Steve.

"Don't go," you said. His brows twitched, indecision and doubt flashing in his expression, but he stepped back to the bed after a moment, dropping down beside you. You shifted over, making room, and he moved to sit against the headboard beside you.

You laid your head down, and after a moment to gather your courage, lifted it to rest on his lap, one hand curling against his leg. He stiffened, but after a breath, his hand settled on your hand, fingers ever so hesitantly tracing up and down, like he was waiting for the other shoe to fall, for the moment to break; you realized you were waiting for the same.

The moment didn’t come. For now, for then, for a little while, the world held, and darkness stayed at bay, and the evils of the world outside got stuck outside the walls.

Tomorrow, all the things you were pretending not to see would slam back into focus, and there would be no choice but to face them.

But for a little while, the world was okay.


End file.
